Free The Convicts by Iain Lawrence

cut the blind man's throat?”
    “I didn't,” I said.
    There was a look of smugness on his face.
    “I mean I didn't cut his throat” I put my hands on the table and leaned forward as he leaned back. “Listen, sir. I hit him, it's true. I hit him very hard; I know I did. But I didn't cut his throat, and he was still alive when I left him.”
    His expression heVfer changed. “Yoii took his boots. You wear them still.”
    “I was given them,” I said. “I've told you that. A boy found them in the river. He must have killed the blind man.”
    Mr. Meel nodded. I smiled, thinking that at last I had convinced him. But instead, he sneered. “What an ingenious fellow you are.”
    He stood up, ready to leave. “Your trial is tomorrow. Watch the judge, boy. The judge has a black cap; it sits before him on the bench. If he puts on that cap when he delivers his sentence, it's death for you, boy.” His smug smile returned. “But you'll see for yourself, and the world will be rid of you soon after. It will be the better without you, I say. Even the sewers of Fleet will be cleaner. Yes, I know your lot, the Darkey's gang.”
    “That's not my lot ,” I said. “It was never my lot.” Mr. Meel backed away as my voice rose, “I go to school in Cam-den Town. Ask my teacher. Ask Mr. Goodfellow, he—”
    “Alex Goodfellow?”
    “Yes. He—”
    “How could you know him, a fine man like that?”
    “Because he sent my father to prison,” I said.
    A change came over Mr. Meel. I couldn't tell if he was amused or surprised, but he was different now. “Alex is in the court this very minute,” he said. “I saw him not an hour ago.”
    “Ask him, then,” I said.
    “What will he say?” asked Mr. Meel, “That he knows no boy called Tom? Or that the Tom he knows is dead?”
    I gasped. That was exactly what Mr. Goodfellow would say. He had seen my dead twin. He had gone into the doctor's surgery as Worms had come out. I realized then what I should have known before. It must have been Mr. Goodfellow who had told my mother I was dead.
    “Bring him here,” I said. It was terrible that my very last hope lay with Mr. Goodfellow, but there was no getting around it. “I'll tell you everything” I said. “If you bring him here, I'll tell you where the diamond is.”
    He must have sprinted all the way to the court, his briefcase flying behind him like a kite. It was not an hour later when I was brought again to the place of columns and arches. In the glass-walled room at the center, Mr. Meel was sitting in the chair behind the table. And standing in the corner was Mr. Goodfellow, as fine as ever, with the light glittering on his watch fob and chain, on the silver handle of his walking stick. His fingers were tapping on that bright, shining knob.
    He looked up at the sound of footsteps. Peering through the glass—from light into darkness—he had to squint to see what lay beyond it. When I was very close he saw me, and a look of amazement came over him. There was no hiding it; he was shocked to see me. But he gathered himself quickly, and by the time the warder opened the door, Mr. Goodfellow looked more puzzled than anything.
    Mr. Meel held up a hand, the palm toward me. “Don't talk,” he ordered, then turned to Mr. Goodfellow. “Alex, do you know this boy?”
    Mr. Goodfellow tapped his fingers on his lips. It was a nervous habit of his, I supposed, to tap them on something. He shook his head slowly. “I don't believe I do,” he said.
    “What?” 1 cried. “It's me. It's Tom Tin.”
    “Tin?” said Mr Goodfellow. “Tin?” he said again, with wrinkles in his brow. “Why, the name means nothing to me.”
    “You're lying,” I snarled. “You destroyed my father. You'll destroy us all.”
    Mf. Meel sprang from his chair. “Damn you, boy,” he said, with bubbles of spit at his mouth. “I'll see you hang before tihe week is out. Jailer, take him away!”
    The warder tugged at my antt. But Mr. Goodfellow said, “Please